“Lousy,” he said, removing his wool overcoat, shaking off the snow, and hanging it on the rack. Not bothering to explain himself further, he straightened his too-tight tie, gave me a gruff nod, then propelled his colossal belly past my desk and down the aisle of the large front workroom toward his small private office in the rear. “Coffee!” he repeated over his retreating shoulder. “Bring the newspapers, too.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, growling to myself and making a cross-eyed face at the ceiling. Would it have killed the man to give me a polite hello and ask about m y weekend? Apparently yes, since Crockett had never once-in all the time I’d worked my fanny off for him-offered me anything more than one long-overdue raise and an occasional surly smile. I still liked the guy, though. He was smart, shrewd, and fairly open-minded-which was a heck of a lot more than I could say for three of the other four men who (along with me, the only woman) made up the rest of the Daring Detective staff.

I was standing at the small worktable where (thanks to me, the only woman) the electric coffeemaker and clean cups were always set up, when the entry bell jingled again. My back was to the door, but I didn’t have to turn my head to find out which of my male “superiors” had arrived. The loud huffing and puffing noises told me all I needed to know.

“Hiya, Zimmerman!” I called over my shoulder. “How’s it going?” Lenny Zimmerman was my only friend at the office-the one member of the staff who didn’t make lousy jokes about my name and gender or treat me like a personal servant.